Page 143 of Snap Shot

“Holy crap.” She throws an arm over her eyes, panting through a chuckle. “You made me come by man-handling my uterus.” A sated smile peeks out. “And so quickly.Whew.”

I unmask her flushed cheeks and cloudy gaze, shifting my hands until they're above her shoulders. “You're incredible, you know that? I didn't know that was possible.”

Indi scoffs out another laugh. “Me either.”

“So much for not having any of my firsts.”

Her cheeks glow with the proud smile reaching her eyes, hiding a trace of worry. They say more than she ever has: that she wants this, wantsus, even if something still holds her back. One day, I hope she trusts me enough to tell me what that is. My puffed breath matches hers.

“I'm gonna need a few minutes to recover. Or a trip to the toilet.”

She eyes the hand over my painful bulge. “Am I supposed to pretend you didn't ask to have a wank in my washroom?”

“What can I say, baby? Getting you off gets me going.”

Leaving Indi gets harder and harder. Every time we part, something gnaws at my chest, widening the void of her absence into a gaping hole until I can fill it with her again. I've never experienced this with anyone before. Sure, I missed Sierra when we weren't together, but this is a much stranger feeling: ache and need combined. Maybe it's because there was no doubt Sierra would be waiting for me. There was a surety, a security. Indi and I agreed on each other—she's mine and I'm hers—but I don't and can't have all of her. Not knowing if or when I ever will plucks every last, living heartstring.

We share the longest goodbye while loitering at her door, twined fingers loosening but not letting go, wearing matching lazy, satisfied smiles. Mine goes sullen when realizing our schedules don't line up again for another week.

“You can't come to my game in Toronto?” I bring her knuckles to my cheek stubble and nuzzle the back of her hand, our palms still clasped.

She tilts her head with a sorry frown. “I'll be in Brampton, but my parents will chop off my head if I'm not home for Diwali. They're allowing fireworks at Westwood Mall again. I already missed Navratri. I didn't mind not having to do all the ridiculous choreography my sisters come up with” —she rolls her eyes in sync with a tongue-click— “but Nik sent me a video of the whole neighborhood dancing in the street in eight degree-weather and I gotsojealous.” Indi thumbs over my pouting lips as I let out a grumbly whine. “Rain check for the next one in Ottawa?”

—————

Three days later, after the worst game I've had in years, I slump into a deep squat against the stark, white-painted cinder block until my ass hits the mildewed carpet in Toronto's CIBC Arena. The heels of my palms dig into my covered eyes but don't relieve the sting.

None of the team said anything, but their silence was loud enough. Getting benched in the second period was the last nail in the coffin. Under other circumstances, losing the first game of the regular season wouldn't set the team up for failure, especially when we're not on home ice. But this year, I feel like a huge letdown.

Sketching doesn't help ground me from the gut-churning disappointment. A sad attempt at a doodle crumples in my fist and gets lobbed across the empty hallway, ricocheting off the opposite wall and bouncing against my shin before dropping to the floor. Can't fucking do anything right.

Not having Mom or Dad at the game didn't help. They provide emotional support, unlike Delaney, who'd been a bitch and flipped me the bird every time I missed a shot. I try to visualize somewhere serene, calming. My mind takes me north, back at Indi's cozy apartment, sprawled across her couch as she kisses my face and neck. Or me kissingherbratty little face as she pretends to not enjoy it. Smartass.Mysmartass. That pang in my chest intensifies. I rub my shirt over my heart and reach into my suit jacket pocket for my phone.

Me:Can you meet me?

Gym Girl:Now?

Me:Please. It's an emergency. 911.

Gym Girl:Tell me where.

About an hour passes before Indi's cool hand on my elbow pulls me from the train of self-hating thoughts I've let myself stew in. “Landon?”

Darkly lined brown eyes search mine from where she squats in front of me, cocking her head. I get lost in their concern for a moment. She claps my bicep and boosts herself to stand, offering a hand. “Come on. I'll help you up.”

I take it and immediately pull her to me, crushing her into a hug. She smells different, something flowery and sweet in place of the usual warm cinnamon.

Instead of resisting it, she eases into the hold, fingering through the hair at the back of my head and scratching my lower back underneath the jacket. “What's wrong?”

“I needed you.” My lips drop to her jaw, brushing that soft skin. “Needed to feel you. I don't know what happened tonight—”

Indi hums, seeming to understand and stretches her head to one side, welcoming my onslaught of the neck kisses. “I followed the game. Those refs were clearly biased. And anyway, it's only the first game, Radek—”

“Can we not talk about it right now? Let me hold you.”

“Okay.”

Crisp silk wrinkles against the rough texture of my palms. “You make everything better.” The fabric feels so foreign, and I inch back to make sure this is my Indi and not some imagined ghost.

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